


on the rooftops (i'll play you some music)

by imgoingtohellforthis_saveme



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Cathedrals, Gargoyles, Library, M/M, The Bay, everything is cold but jihoon is w a r m, hoshi is a viola player, i need validation please read this, i'm cold now, learn about induction, please respect viola players they are trying their best, sheet music, some elements borrowed from 'rooftoppers', some other elements borrowed from 'their eyes were watching god' but maybe like two, somehow neither of them catch a cold, they both have legs of steel, violas, woozi likes books, writing this was an interesting time but very calming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imgoingtohellforthis_saveme/pseuds/imgoingtohellforthis_saveme
Summary: soonyoung is a viola player that goes up to the rooftops at night for some peace and quiet, and to finally express himself in a safe place.jihoon finds him there at the cathedral, next to the snarling gargoyles that line the edges, and helps pull him back down to earth and into his own skin.
Relationships: Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi & Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 31





	on the rooftops (i'll play you some music)

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my notes for quite some time now. i finally convinced my tiny useless rat brain to write a few more scenes and actually edit. 
> 
> hope you enjoy it :)

____________________

  
soonyoung loved the roof. 

especially at night.

loved sitting up there, the cold air brushing feather-duster light over his cheeks, leaving nothing but chilled skin in its wake. he’d watch the people, small little ants, down below. 

some found power in the darkness, he knew. and some found fear and shadowed apparitions lurking behind each corner. 

he took a deep breath. the frigid air seemed to settle in his lungs, heavy, grounding. time seems to slow down, up here.

he loved bringing his viola up with him, plucking rapid pizzicato and sweeping long bow-strokes over the thin, coiled strings. the moonlight would glint off of the wood so cleanly, bluish white, and it gleamed off of his forearms, all one and the same. it was at times like these that he felt as if he were an extension of his instrument, of the night sky, small and insignificant but part of something much greater than himself. 

he spread his wings with each echoing note from his worn viola. 

he loved leaving everything behind, and taking that first huge leap onto the neighboring roof, and the next, and the next. 

the roofs could take him anywhere. 

the rooftops were soonyoung’s haven. a place where he could be utterly alone, almost terrifyingly so, but the presence of the moon and the stars softly illuminating his path comforted him. 

he would wrap himself up in their perpetuity, and warm himself with the full, rich notes he coaxed from the trusty instrument always by his side.

they always had comforted him, filled him with life when nothing else could. and soonyoung knew that the moon, the stars, the hooded darkness of night, and his viola were all he needed.

  
____________________

  
once, soonyoung ran all the way to the cathedral at the city’s center. the weather-beaten stone slept silently under his feet, the tall spire looming so high behind him it seemed to be prodding at the dark clouds above.

he sat next to one of the snarling gargoyles, its gleaming eye glaring at the empty courtyard below. he rested his arm on its sloped, horned head like a faithful pet, the once rough, now whipped smooth stone ice-cold. 

he wondered how lonely it must be to be a gargoyle - trapped watching the same view over and over, watching the same little humans run around and around on the distant earth, looking for everything and nothing at the same time. 

soonyoung didn’t feel like one of them, not now, at least. he didn’t run in circles, searching for a purpose, a meaning in life. there probably wasn’t one, he reasoned, so he told himself not to look. he was content to sit here, look into the empty air, and just exist. 

a small vessel in the vast universe, full of stars all the same. 

he’d leaned back onto his hands, legs dangling off the side, and looked up into the pregnant clouds above, their bellies full of rain.

something fell of the shelf inside of him. irritation. 

rain meant that soonyoung couldn’t play his viola outside, on top of the world. it meant that he couldn’t run across the roofs with wild abandon. it meant that he had to be locked inside his little box with the rest of the city. 

rain robbed him of the quiet peace and solace he found at night. 

soonyoung picked up the irritation and gently placed it back on the shelf. 

he took a deep breath, felt the crisp air circulate in his lungs, let it sweep the irritation and anger and frustration from the day into tiny neat piles. 

he sat there a moment longer. he didn’t burden himself with thinking, he just let the air run through him, let it lovingly brush away the dust from his crevices. 

he patted the gargoyle on the head affectionately before slowly standing, feeling his back muscles protest. he left a small rock inside its jaw as a reminder. 

[ soonyoung was here. and he understands. ]

he was halfway back when the rain began to fall, pelting his back with sharp droplets that stung like hail. 

____________________

  
the gargoyle was still snarling when soonyoung left. it still stared down at the courtyard, doomed to an eternity of watching the same view, over and over, frozen in time. 

perhaps that was why it still bared its teeth, why somehow its fangs remained nearly as sharp as the day they were chiseled. 

society is fickle, sometimes, yet so ultimately stubborn. humans never fail to place importance in the unimportant, to base success in irrelevancy, to smother themselves in meaningless pursuits.

it had been so when the gargoyle first began its tired watch, and it remains the same. 

blown by the wailing wind, and washed out by the weary rain, the rock soonyoung left tumbled out of its jaw, and 

fell

fell

fell  
  
fell

into sodden grass below.

____________________

it was a while before soonyoung ventured back to the cathedral. this time, he brought his viola with him.

it was a bit of a struggle, hauling the bulky case along, the jumps that had been so effortless the first time now plodding, draining. soonyoung just strapped the case to his back tighter and leapt with renewed vigor. 

by the time he reached the cathedral’s roof, his legs burned and he was certain that his bow had lost a hair or two. he didn’t mind the pain, and although bows shedding hairs are inevitable, soonyoung still hated to snap them off, hated hearing the rosin squeak unpleasantly between his fingertips.

he set his case down gently, clicking the clasps open, the zipper grating in the silence. it was at times like these, when every sound soonyoung made echoed harshly, that soonyoung felt like the only person alive. 

it was at times like these, when these abrasive sounds slashed through the cold, quiet air, soonyoung almost felt lonely. 

almost.

instead of dwelling on the unpleasant emotion, soonyoung tucked it away, and smoothed over what stuck out with music. 

he removed his viola, wiped it down lovingly with the once jet-black cloth (that was now more streaked than not), tightened and rosined his bow. 

he snapped off the limp, dangling hairs, and winced at both the sharp snapping sound and the painful squeak as the rosin slid between his fingers.

he tuned. 

he tuned his instrument, and he tuned himself. he brought himself closer to the precipice of losing himself to the great unknown, to losing his sense of what matters in the world until all that remains is

the still air

the cold rock beneath his feet and that colder rock two hundred thousand miles away

the wood in his hands.

he pressed his fingers to the fingerboard, feeling the strings indent into hard callouses that once stung, but no longer.

he hovered the bow above the C string.

he closed his eyes.

and he played.

____________________

  
when soonyoung opened his eyes again, he was startled by the silhouette of a boy sitting on the gargoyle a few down from his. 

the moonlight streamed down, highlighting one side of the boy’s face, and for the first time, the light seemed harsh, not gentle. not motherly in the way that soonyoung had always thought of it. 

sharp shadows stood out starkly, casting the planes of his face into triangular shadows. knifelike lines divided the light and dark. 

soonyoung struggled to find his voice. the rooftops had always been his escape. his haven. who was this boy to steal that from him, to encroach on this sacred place? 

and why was he so afraid? how long had this boy been here? had he been listening?

had he liked what he had heard?

soonyoung had always been alone up here, on the rooftops, away from the hectic bustling of everyday life, where he could slip away and just feel something more, like a part of the sky. 

like nobody at all. 

anonymous, a faceless shadow sitting up high above, sending music into the inky night, uncaring of who would hear him, what they would think. 

maybe he could unlock that pandora’s box of emotions that he kept inside of him, finally let it loose. who could tell him what to do, here? who could judge him?

rules didn’t exist up here, you see. 

but who was this boy?

and why was he here?

soonyoung removed his box of questions from the shelf inside of him, and opened the box a sliver. the box was bursting at the seams with questions, but he carefully shook out a few and replaced it on the shelf. the rest could wait. 

“how often do you come up here?”was the first one he decided to ask. 

the boy looked at him curiously. his feet dangled off the side of the gargoyle, and soonyoung was struck by how young he looked. 

“i come here most nights. but i’ve never seen you.” 

“i usually don’t come all the way here. but it’s beautiful.” 

“yes. if you climb even higher, you can see the bay from here.” 

soonyoung smiled at that. “i would very much like to try, but perhaps on a day when i don’t have my viola with me.” 

“i’ve heard you play before. your music is beautiful. do you play off of sheets?” the boy hopped down from the gargoyle and walked towards soonyoung. his dark hair blew softly in the wind, and the shadows danced across his face. black and white. 

he’d heard him play before? why hadn’t he noticed him before? 

if he kept coming close enough to hear, he must have liked the music. right?

soonyoung falters. what should he say? thank you? was that too self-absorbed? was this boy just being polite? 

they hadn’t much to talk about, after all. 

and yet, he found himself saying more than he intended to. 

“thank you. and no, i don’t. my day job is to play other peoples’ music, so at night i like to play my own. whatever comes into my mind comes out of my instrument.” 

the boy smiled at that. he looked curiously down at soonyoung, who had begun to pack his instrument away in the case, following the precise order of steps he always did: 

loosen bow. pack bow.

shake out chin cloth, fold, place inside. 

wipe down instrument. pack instrument. 

click clasps shut. 

“what’s your name?” 

soonyoung hefted the case over his shoulders. “soonyoung. yours?” 

“jihoon.” 

“if i come back here tomorrow, will i see you?” 

“yes. if you do come back, don’t bring your viola. let’s climb to the top.” 

“i’ll look forward to it.” 

the last thing he saw before jumping away was jihoon’s shadow sitting at the edge of the first level of the spire, staring off into the distance.

boyish, youthful, but with an odd stiffness to him.

like he’d seen a lot of the world, and been disappointed by it.

____________________

  
soonyoung’s rehearsal ran late the next night. he found himself sitting in his squeaky chair, back straight as a rod, playing through a piece that seemed far too long two hours later than usual. he could hear someone playing a note flat, someone else cutting into the rests, and it nettled at him incessantly.

he listened too hard at the next breath mark, and, distracted, played his note a fraction of a second too long. 

it seemed to ring through the room, echoing off of each metal fixture, clanging around and around and around. he felt rather than saw his stand partner glare at him. 

the conductor sighed and raised his arms. “once more, from measure 112.” 

‘once more’ is, perhaps, the biggest lie any conductor will tell on a regular basis. 

when soonyoung’s conductor said ’once more,’ soonyoung heard something along the lines of, ‘we’re going to play this section until it’s perfect, and no one plays this breath mark at measure 144 nor the fermata at measure 246 for one fraction of a second too long. but especially this breath mark. watch this breath mark, do you hear me?’ 

soonyoung had to stay later, now, and so did everyone else. they probably hated him now, if they didn’t before.

he gritted his teeth and jammed his anger, his impulsiveness, his frustration at his conductor and at himself back onto the shelf. he needed to keep this job, after all. he hated auditions - hated the idea of being alone and putting his soul out for show - like water hates oil. 

he had suffered through one, and that was enough to last him several lifetimes.

as soon as he could, he squeezed through the thick wooden door, case clutched in his hands, desperate to get home.

____________________

  
later, soonyoung changed into warmer clothing, but when he stepped outside the cold still bit, sharp needles digging into his skin. he stepped carefully onto the crumbling roof next to his, then leapt to the next. 

the first jump was always the scariest, and even though soonyoung had been jumping for months now, he still felt that unpleasant twisting in his stomach before he wiped his mind clean and let his muscles carry him.

____________________

he reached the cathedral roof, and to his chagrin, jihoon was nowhere in sight. 

soonyoung sighed and sat down next to his gargoyle, head resting on his arm, legs dangling down. he sat there for a few minutes, staring across the dark cityscape. he let his mind drift, let it intermingle with the frigid air and the dull city lights. he rearranged his shelves, placed everything back in order. he unstuck the frustration from before and gently slid it onto a higher shelf. 

if jihoon weren’t to come at all, he reasoned, then he shouldn’t be surprised. what would he want anyways, with someone like him? 

it’s best not to be disappointed. expect nothing.

it was nice, then, to not have to think. to just sit, and let the cold seep into his numb bones, and let his mind be blank. the feeling of having a body but not being stuck in it. of being weightless. 

he whirled around at a soft thump behind him, scrambling up so fast he feared breaking the corner off of the ledge. he felt the cold, along with a sense of relief, rush in, all at once. a river, instead of a trickle.

“oh! hello.” 

jihoon smiled at him, softly. the moonlight didn’t seem to sharpen his features this time. jihoon seemed more… real, round, almost, despite the shadows all around him retaining their harsh geometric simplicity. 

“shall we?” 

“y-yes. let’s.”

they climbed. 

soonyoung followed jihoon’s steps to the letter, the steep inclines and large reaches something he was not accustomed to. he had found his niche, leaping across the roofs, but he had stayed in it. 

the rough stone scraped his hands, stinging and scratching. he relished in it, relished in the ache in his ankles and knees. it was good pain. he felt, for once in a while, like he was truly alive. like he owned the body he inhabited, and he didn’t want to leave it. 

he felt excitement, impulse, and he didn’t do a thing about it. 

he reached the highest ledge, a slip of a thing, and sat down next to jihoon. 

the city stretched out beneath them, limitless, yet fading into black forest behind. the moonlight glinted off of the stone and the dark leaves, pale and clean and pure over the rigid buildings below. 

the wind blew through soonyoung’s hair, pushing some onto his forehead, but he didn’t feel as cold. perhaps it was the exertion, the exhilaration. or, perhaps it was the small yet deceptively strong figure next to him. 

he wondered how he could have been content with just jumping, when there was so much more to be had. 

the bay that jihoon had spoke of, that soonyoung hadn’t bothered to visit in years, glittered in front of him. a wide disk, the silver moonlight gleaming off of the waves as they crested, falling rhythmically back into themselves. soonyoung couldn’t hear anything save the wind whistling around his ears and his own labored breaths, but he pretended he could hear the rough water surge and swell, battering against the docks. 

he should like to go see the bay again, he thought to himself. the last time he went, he was repulsed by the smell of seaweed, fish, and dried salt, but perhaps it had changed. 

more likely, perhaps he had changed.

jihoon’s voice pulled soonyoung’s attention back from his wandering thoughts. 

“you know, you’re the first person that wanted to come up here with me.” 

“you know, you’re the first person i’ve met up here,” soonyoung replied. “and i’m glad i did come up. it’s beautiful.” 

“i’m glad. the climb is difficult, but i feel it’s worth it.” 

soonyoung felt that too, and he wanted to say so. instead, he said, “who else have you asked? to come up.” 

“my friend. he just laughed and said i was going to fall and break my neck. but i haven’t yet, so i think i can induct that i just won’t. ever.” 

“daring.” 

“hm. perhaps.”

soonyoung smiled at that. he’d felt so frustrated and cross and embarrassed that day that this small action felt like a salve over his soul. he looked over at jihoon, noticed the wind mussing his hear, black strands flopping over his face. the shadows seemed less harsh, up here. his face glowed, and his dark eyes seemed to sparkle. he, too, was a person of the night, but he seemed to have so much light within him. 

“thank you, for asking me.” 

  
____________________

note: 

to induct, or an induction, is used here in its definition in logic, which means “to reason from the particular to the general.” an alternate word could be “assumption,” although it implies a lack of evidence, and is therefore inherently less accurate to the specific line of reasoning that jihoon followed. 

if you are still confused, or would just like to learn more about logic, i recommend the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, under Inductive Logic. if you scroll down from there to “1. Inductive Arguments,” there is a short example about ravens and an explanation. 

there is also an article by LiveScience called “deductive reasoning vs inductive reasoning,” which is also very helpful and perhaps easier to read (more concise and more reader-friendly). but if you just search “reason from the particular to the general,” you will get a ton of sources too. 

disclaimer: i did not use the term “induct” to sound smart, it just happened to fit the dialogue (and i think it’s a cool word, and that logic is also cool). but i wanted to take advantage of my having used the word by providing a small explanation (because if you look up “induct” in a regular dictionary, this particular definition will not be present there.)

_______________

it rained the rest of the week.

fat raindrops fell like bullets, splattering soonyoung every time he peeked out of the window. 

he didn’t dare play viola outside, fearful that the rain would soak into the wood and ruin it. 

he travelled around the small section of the city he could reach, taunting death with each jump to a water-slick roof. 

he didn’t get close enough to the cathedral to see jihoon’s shadow sitting at the top of the spire, leaning against a gargoyle, walking along the edge of the roof. 

it was on the last day of the storms, that he saw a small shadow leaping away from him onto a roof a few buildings down. the grace and ease in each movement entranced him. they could only have belonged to jihoon. 

soonyoung sprinted up the next night as soon as he could, and was greeted by the same image. 

he was always one step behind, racing to the roof only to be stuck on sharp shingles, listening to the soft patter of footsteps echo away from him, a small, lithe silhouette fading into the darkness.

he gave up, after a while. jihoon clearly did not want to see him, after all. 

he thought they had a connection, but alas, he let himself hope. 

his music was tight, that night, the notes thin and piercing, and soonyoung left feeling more dissatisfied than he had in a long time.

____________________

soonyoung found jihoon again. ironically, it was during the day. during the evening, actually, but at that fragile time before the sun has completely begun its descent and the sky is still valiantly holding onto its blues.

his orchestra had just finished up a concert, and soonyoung was in the middle of tiredly stumbling back to his humble abode. 

he stopped beside a streetlight to check the clasps on his case, after he heard some mysterious clinking coming from back there. and then he saw him, walking the opposite direction, book in hand.

after staring at the figure for a moment, debating with himself over whether he should call out or not, he reasoned that he truly had nothing to lose. 

“jihoon?” 

he stopped. “oh, hello!” 

“i wasn’t aware you lived around here.” 

“i do, actually. i was just on my way to return this book. would you like to come?” 

soonyoung couldn’t think of a single reason he would go to the library at this hour, except to spend time with jihoon. 

did jihoon want to spend time with him after all? did soonyoung want to spend time with him? would he just end up disappointed and lonely again? 

“if you don’t mind, i would love to.” 

  
______________________

  
they sat in the library for a while, jihoon having returned his book and given soonyoung three to read. 

they had a table for four, but soonyoung had given his viola case one of the chairs to sit in. it sat propped up, leaning against the chair back like a little mannequin. 

crinkling, ruffling, the turning of pages filled the warm silence. 

soonyoung looked up the clock. it was late. 

he sighed. “jihoon, i’m really sorry, but i should get going. i have a concert in the morning tomorrow.” 

“oh, that’s okay. i may head out myself.” 

“do you want to come?” 

“to your concert?”

“yes. i would… i would really like it. if you came.” 

“i would love to, but i haven’t bought a ticket.” 

“that’s fine, i can give you this one i got free as an orchestra member.” 

“thank you! and i’ll see you there.”

____________________

jihoon did come to the concert. soonyoung saw him, sitting in the third row, eight seats away from the aisle. he saw him when he walked onstage, the lights blinding him and making his eyes water. 

he played through the sonata, and a more lively sonatina. he could feel it, could feel how his strokes were more reserved, how he stopped each whole note and fermata a fraction of a fraction of a second too early. 

nevertheless, no glaring issues. yet, the applause from the audience seemed to bounce right off his skin. he hadn’t done his best, he knew that. why had he held back? what was he so afraid of?

he knew. he knew the answer to both of those questions.

he returned backstage, gathered his sheets, and after dismissal, headed outside. 

jihoon stopped him. 

“you did amazing.” 

soonyoung sighed. “i don’t think so. but thank you for coming.” 

“well, i do think so.” 

“thanks.” he tried to smile. 

“actually, i have something for you. i drew these out for you earlier today.” he handed several slightly crumpled sheets of paper to soonyoung. “sorry, i dropped them on the way here and they got blown away from me a little bit.”

“no, no! it’s fine, it’s fine. thank you so much.” soonyoung smiled at jihoon’s hopeful eyes and turned the pages over to see several blocks of ledger lines, with an alto clef painstakingly drawn on the left side of each. “sheet music?” 

“yes, i was thinking that maybe you could write a sonatina of your own. you have so many beautiful melodies. write them down. work them into something you’re proud of.” 

it was a lovely thought. soonyoung was honored that jihoon would think of him like this, and would hand draw him blank sheet music. 

“thank you! i will try my best.” 

jihoon looked relieved. “oh, good. i was worried that you wouldn’t like it. you always seems to be more interested in the impermanence of playing once and then being able to leave it behind.” 

he knew him better than soonyoung gave him credit for. “you’re right, i do enjoy that.” he looked back down at the sheets in his hand. 

“give it at try, please?” 

soonyoung smiled again, genuinely this time. “i will.” 

____________________

  
soonyoung went back to the cathedral, his unfinished sheet music rustling around in his case. jihoon is sitting on the edge, throwing a small rock from one hand to the other.

“jihoon,” he puffed out. 

“ah! soonyoung. how are you?” 

“i’m actually fine, how are you?” 

“i’m doing well.” 

soonyoung hesitated. he found some courage in him, somewhere. he slowly unzipped his case, and grabbed the sheets in his hand before he could think too much about it, not missing how jihoon’s eyes lit up. 

“you worked on it?” 

soonyoung blushed. “yes. but, i…” 

“yes?” 

“i’m not too sure about this one section.” he took a deep breath. “would you… would you mind listening to it? and then perhaps you could tell me how to improve it?” he froze, staring at jihoon’s face, waiting for a reaction.

jihoon grinned. “of course! i would love to!” 

unpack bow. 

tighten bow. 

snap off loose strings. 

tune instrument. 

place bow on string.

play. 

  
____________________

soonyoung didn’t go up to the roofs as often. but when he did, he didn’t sit alone, and play viola, and try to keep himself together with thumbtacks. he sat with jihoon, and they sat together on the edge of the roof, and held hands and leaned into each other.

and soonyoung felt like maybe there’s something to the nighttime that he never realized before. that the night is cold, and still, and it wasn’t not only him in the universe anymore. 

having someone by his side made his heart warm, and the night felt less chillingly peaceful. 

and maybe he didn’t keep his boxes so tightly locked during the day. maybe he kept them a crack open, when he played through a sonata he particularly enjoyed, and yearned to close his eyes, and smiled sheepishly, but largely unapologetically, at his stand partner when she glared at him for knocking her elbow with his bow. 

he sat high above the city, still high above, but his feet firmly planted on the ground. 

  
____________________ 

the night is freeing. the suffocating rules of the day do not apply during the night, a time in which the black paintbrushes of beings less frivolous than us strike broad strokes across the sky, hiding and sanding over what exists, yet exposing what has not yet come to be. 

_____________________

  
soonyoung was at the cathedral again. he leaned his head on jihoon’s shoulder. 

gesturing to his gargoyle, he said, “i’ve named him ‘greg.’” 

jihoon laughed. “you read all of those books, and made that long list of names, only to name him ‘greg?’”

“yes! i think it suits him.” 

“whatever you say.” and he wrapped his arm around soonyoung’s shoulders, a point of warmth in the otherwise chilly night air. 

____________________

**Author's Note:**

> hello! it is I, the confused writer of... whatever this is.
> 
> believe it or not, i actually chop chopped this and made it about three thousand percent less pretentious. yet here we are. 
> 
> i'm kind of unsure about posting it even though i worked quite hard on it (and made myself both sad and cold in the process, but hopefully those are not the ending effects for you as well). 
> 
> i would appreciate anything you have to say! so, please leave me a comment or something. i love love love reading them and they make my day, so if you have a moment drop a statement or two. 
> 
> above all else, thank you for reading! have a lovely day :)


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